Twilight Moonlight
by megicci
Summary: Alice Twilight and Margaret Moonlight met that moonlit twilight under fatal circumstances. Basically an AU/what if? fic in which Alice is the one who claims Number One and Russia Space Man doesn't have to die, and Alice and Margaret are flat-out, straight-up in a relationship of sorts. If you know what I mean. Rating will be elevated to T in chapter three, and M around chapter six.


_**Twilight Moonlight**_

_Chapter 1_

Despite its warm, orange hues and sunsets dyed in vibrance, Santa Destroy was a cold, merciless place. Those who lived in this city either fought their way up to the vicious exclusivity of the upper class or scraped by, tooth and nail. The urban landscape, so ruined from decades of unmaintained weathering, ushered Alice Twilight in, the new environment intoxicating. This was where she was going to work as a hitman of sorts for the United Assassins Association.

She was going to work away from her husband, away from her son, for the entertainment of the upper class or the whims of the newest big-shot entrepreneur. But it was fine. She had killed before. Without pause or mercy, she had murdered in cold blood. Her family knew nothing, and they still didn't know. But it was fine. Her husband would stay at home, oblivious as to where their large source of income came from, her son raised on spilled blood. This was all fine with her.

Alice turned the corner of the street she had been walking along. There, the Santa Destroy UAA agency branch stood tall and proud, shaded by verdant palm and shrub. The glamorous status of the structure was as if it wasn't a very conspicuous building for the purpose of housing an organization that should very well stay in the shadows.

Air conditioning was the first sensation she took the time to appreciate upon entering through the double glass doors. The second sensation was the sanitary smell permeating the lobby. The third was the dead silence of the room. No paperwork was being done by the receptionist, who stared resolutely forward despite Alice's entry.

"Hello," Alice said, her accent decidedly not as thick as it used to be.

The receptionist looked up briefly before returning her gaze to the screen in front of her. She paused her movements for a short time before muttering, "Pink hair. You're Alice. Alice Twilight."

The direct object of the receptionist's statement nodded firmly.

"Sylvia will see you shortly," the middle-aged woman said. She tapped a button before returning her silent gaze to her monitor.

An hour of sitting and several hours of paperwork later, Alice was fully instated in Santa Destroy, with the UAA covering her rent - provided she covered the money for ranking battles. She did not intend on tackling those. They sounded dangerous, like a liability, something that could endanger her family's livelihood.

* * *

Alice's apartment was across the street from a convenience store. A few days into settling in, she found herself atop the roof of that store, admiring the moon's fullness. A view like this every night wouldn't be too bad, she thought. With that thought in mind, she closed her eyes, her back to the entrance. She allowed herself to relax into the wall and simply bask in the purity of the white moon.

The breeze carried a pleasant tone. It was as if the night itself was singing. Alice, drowsy as she acknowledged she was, could not definitively state whether or not she was hearing distinct words in that tune. Then, as the music drifted closer, she knew it was a voice. The high pitch of that clear voice revealed itself as belonging to a younger woman. That song drifted closer and closer, the lilting notes soaking into Alice's being, until, abruptly, the singer was murmuring it into the newly instated assassin's ear.

"_... out of my way,_

_You will not live to see another day." _

The singer ended her song with a tremolo, the resonation of that final note eerie in its continual vibrato. She paused and stated, "Pink hair. You're the target."

Cold steel gently ringed Alice's neck. She opened her eyes calmly and saw only the blade of a scythe. Alice Twilight exhaled slowly, and her back-mounted appendage system, the ASURA-6, sprang to life. Three of the robotic arms took hold of the scythe blade and levered it upward, hoping to flip its wielder over and onto the floor should she be foolish enough to hold her grip.

Alice's opponent was surprisingly light those few milliseconds she hung on to the scythe. The scythe-wielder presumably did a backflip and landed, feet on the floor, a meter or two in front of Alice.

The assailant dipped her head to the side and smiled. "Hello. Margaret is my name - Greek, for pearl. I'm going to kill you so I can hit Rank 35."

She stated this as if death was a regular, even frequent, occurrence to her. But Margaret was an assassin, so that would only be normal. Not to the extent, however, that having her own blade around her neck would only merit a cold smile.

Alice's quick movements would have turned the tide entirely. Margaret should have been decapitated, done with, over. Even so, the seasoned assassin did not flick the scythe, did not guillotine the girl before her. She was not sure if it was mercy or the rise of the hairs on her back after witnessing the content grin on Margaret's face. That girl was dead for sure, when it was her opponent who was supposed to be dead. So she could climb the ranks. Gain some prestige. Fulfill what it was she wanted to do.

Her lack of reaction suggested that, on the contrary, she did not care of climbing the ranks. She did not care about prestige or fulfilment. What was Margaret fighting for?

Alice could give this thought only a second of meditation before she was winded by a heel to the abdomen and a subsequent impact with the floor. Her reflex was to let go of the scythe in order to shield herself from her fall. A fatal mistake, but one Margaret was gambling on. A daring gamble, but not a mistake in the least.

Margaret reclaimed her scythe, then was only a shadowy blur, then was gone. Alice suspected that the assassin turned tail, but at that moment a haunting melody reached her ears from a nearby telephone pole.

"_Like a bloody storm,_

_Burning like a bloody storm…"_

A red dot appeared on Alice's abdomen. It was a laser sight. Moving from this position would do no good; that would sacrifice the protection of the wall behind her. Any bullets that girl would fire could be easily deflected anyway.

Bullets were not what came from the barrel of Margaret's scythe-gun. A beam of energy, all at once, crashed into Alice's stomach, pummeling her diaphragm and robbing her of her breath. Her beam swords, even if there were six of them, did little to stop the torrent.

When at last it ended, Alice breathed in deeply. She would have to approach this situation differently. The UAA, it seemed, had some rather unique employees.

"_...But you're a martyr,_

_For even less, for even less…"_

Alice configured the ASURA-6 to spider mode. She was mounted on two of the appendages like a camera atop a tripod. The four other arms had rods of energy extending out of them - beam swords. She steadied her balance. If she wanted to end this battle, she would have to land her strikes in exactly the right spots.

The ASURA-6's appendages ejected each of the four beam swords at once, sending them flying towards Margaret's silhouette against the telephone pole. The blades of energy ripped through her flesh, instantly cauterizing it around their forms and protruded out the other sides of Margaret's limbs, effectively crucifying her to the telephone pole.

The girl in gothic lolita fashion's body grew limp. She was unconscious from shock and blood loss. It was over.

* * *

Fortunately, the wounds were not fatal or impossible to recover from. Alice's aim had been on-spot. Despite that, yanking the beam katana out was rather worrisome. It was a clean, almost surgical removal, due to the self-cauterization of the wounds, and Alice had avoided severing any tendons or slicing any arteries with the blows. Within a day, and without any actual medical intervention, Margaret was breathing evenly, her heart rate steady.

Margaret didn't show any signs of making a full recovery any time soon. Alice surmised she would be going a week or so without a bed.

Only three days passed before the goth loli was conscious again.

Alice was home and at her bedside by the time Margaret jerked her eyes open. The girl rolled her head to the side, focusing her sight on the older woman's steady gaze.

"My name is Alice Twilight," she said. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance."

Margaret groaned quietly and weakly, a stark contrast from her strong singing voice. "Why am I still alive?"

"I chose to keep you alive."

"Why?" Margaret shifted under the covers sharply, moving to bound out and escape at any time.

Alice shushed the girl and pulled the covers back over her prone form. "We can talk about it over dinner." She turned back as she walked through the doorway to the kitchen. "You had a good appetite for being unconscious."

Margaret could be heard groaning in frustration from the kitchen - at least, until the roar of the stove fans drowned all other sound out. Alice cracked a few eggs over the pan, allowing them to pasteurize before tossing a variety of vegetables into the pan. A few minutes over the flame and the egg-coated carrots, celery, and spinach were ready. They were salted lightly and the pan was emptied onto two plates.

She removed a slab of beef from the refrigerator and cut the chunks most even in lean meat and fat into the pan. A handful of plain steak cubes was placed alongside each plate's eggetable dish, medium-well for safety. Margaret had to skimp on the practice of undercooking since her son was born, so this habit of fully cooking each dish was ingrained.

The bright-haired woman emerged from the kitchen to a perfectly still Margaret, lying calmly in bed and staring at her as if to demand food. As if it had been more than twenty minutes. When the goth-loli laid her eyes upon her food, her stare changed to one of incredulity, as if to ask, "How could you prepare such strange food for me?"

Alice could only chuckle at this reaction. "I'm afraid you will have to deal with my cooking until you're able to walk without a horrible limp."

She raised a forkful of food to her patient's mouth, who was understandably upset at the proceedings. Even so, Margaret obliged the food, seeing as she had gone without any for over half a week. The pout adorning Margaret's face as she slowly chewed her food was highly complementary to her youthful looks. Her caretaker couldn't help but smile at this display by someone who just days earlier held a blade to her throat. Even if this girl was an assassin, she was still at least a few years Alice's junior. She was also probably emotionally stunted with this kind of behavior. To that end, Alice was glad that Margaret was still alive.

Between chewing her food and washing it down with water, Margaret appeared preoccupied. Said preoccupation did not last long; she set her utensils on the plate and slammed her glass on the table very soon after beginning her meal. Alice herself had just begun chewing on her third steak cube, which elicited an impatient glare from the bedridden gothic lolita, who seemed to want to talk. Under such pressure, Alice had no choice but to keep up with demands, and she downed the last bits of eggetables on her plate within a minute.

After swallowing a sip of water, Alice began with an inquiry. "So what is it you want to ask of me?"

Margaret sank her head back into the pillow, looking at the worn ceiling above. "Why am I still alive?"

"Did I stand to gain anything from killing you?" was the repartee.

"A penny saved is a penny earned. You're wasting your damned food and time on me, which you could have saved out on if you just killed me," Margaret scoffed.

"Well, it's not like I actively lose anything."

"Your life." The goth loli flourished her hands in a dramatic whirling motion.

"What?"

"I could just come back and kill you. I know where you live now."

Alice stacked the tableware neatly and rose from her seat with the pile in hand. She grinned. "It's not like you have the capability of doing so."

With that said, she left to wash the dishes and to allow Margaret reflection.

* * *

Ten days and three mundane assassination contracts later, Alice had enough money to buy a new mattress without having to skimp on her standard of living. Margaret had long since stopped bleeding and even recently could take strolls without feeling like she was tearing her calves apart, but the current bed's everything was still stained with dried blood. Alice placed an order at the store for delivery within 24 hours and informed Margaret that she was to answer the door and receive the mattress; the pink-haired assassin was going to be out of town to deliver a report.

Alice came home after those two days abroad to a slip that notified her of her delivery's unsigned status. Margaret's preferred outfit was missing from the closet, as were any signs of someone having lived in the apartment recently. The only evidence left behind that Margaret ever stayed in this building was the faded blood permeating the bedsheets.

"You didn't even eat before leaving," Alice murmured.

**A/N: This pairing needed a nice, long, multi-chaptered fic about cool things. About Travis - don't worry; he'll show up and be an integral part of the plot.**


End file.
